Pandora's Box
by MaxxieBEYOND
Summary: When Harry finds an empty book in a hedge, he has no idea what he's picked up. Tom was always there for Harry, who blossoms into a beautiful young man. But what are Tom's true intentions? Eventual Yaoi, TRxHP Slytherin!Harry
1. In which Harry finds a diary

**This chapter has been edited.**

**Ahh, you've probably read a million Diary!TomXHarry fics. And a million Slytherin!Harry/Dark!Harry fics. I've always wanted to write one, I don't care if it's not 'original'. Please don't compare it to others either. This is my fantasy, and I'm sharing it with you. This is my interpretation of how this scenario would play out. Oh, apologies for the cheesy beginning as well. I wrote it a while ago and wanted to throw it in one of my stories. This one seemed quite appropriate. I have a rough idea of what's happening, so I'm not sure if the updates will be especially consistent. By the way, I'm rating this M for a reason. It will probably contain violence, and will most definitely contain smut.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Harry Potter did not view himself as a particularly interesting individual. He thought himself less than attractive, his only good quality being his bright, green eyes that were unfortunately permanently covered by unruly hair. Harry couldn't draw wonderful things, or write beautiful words. He was less than average at school. He didn't have a lot of friends, and couldn't sing or dance well. The only thing he found himself to be remotely decent at doing was annoying his Aunt and Uncle, the Dursleys. He didn't even have to try to do that.<p>

The ten-year old lived with his Aunt and Uncle in Surrey, in the nice neighbourhood of Little Whinging. They had a pretty house, with a delightful garden and a large conservatory. They lived a very comfortable life- except for Harry, of course. He was treated like a piece of dirt that the Dursley's couldn't wait to scrape from their shoes. The mild abuse he suffered at their hands was tolerable; he had never been struck, but to be complimented or praised for once would've been nice. Harry was always met with disapproval or irritancy. Despite this, he truly was grateful enough to have the roof over his head. To even consider running away was out of the question, as he knew he wouldn't last a night by himself. Harry often compared himself to Jane Eyre, a character from a book he read the other week at school.

It was an exceedingly normal morning on a particularly normal day. Mrs Dursley had struck her bony knuckles against the door of his cupboard, waking Harry from a rather pleasant dream about running through the corridors of a huge, ancient castle. He dressed as quickly as he could, banging his elbows on the underside of the stairs in the process. Harry didn't even blink. He had grown so used to this small space that bumps and scrapes were commonplace. Dashing out of the cupboard to make breakfast for his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin, he began another normal meal- lashings of bacon and eggs for everyone, and a small slice of toast for himself. After a quick clean-up of the pans and dishes, it was into the garden to work whilst Mr Dursley took Dudley to school. Harry had been suspended from school for two weeks. This had been regarding an incident involving Jam in the teacher's hair. Jam that had been thrown by Dudley, mind you.

Petunia busied herself with the laundry as Harry watered the flowers. Sighing, he shifted his gaze towards the sky, fresh with lilac, morning light and cottony clouds. He had always loved the sky. It was such a breath-taking, wide sweeping space; so vast that Harry had often wondered if there really were any other planets or stars out there. To him, it just seemed like endlessness. Harry sometimes caught himself thinking about why people were scared of what they didn't understand. Like why Dudley was afraid of the dark or why Petunia looked fearful anytime someone mentioned the supernatural. Harry himself loved thinking about things like that. His dreams would give way to vast, open expanses, where he was free to run as long and as far as he could possibly run. He was jolted from his thoughtful trance by Mrs Dursley's high shrieking.

"Harry! Harry, get inside!"

He turned off the hose and scuttled inside towards the harsh-looking woman, who had folded her apron away and donned her expensive-looking coat. As he approached, she sniffed indignantly and gave him a disapproving look.

"I'm going out shopping. Come, you're staying with Mrs Figg."

Five minutes later, Harry found himself in the fusty old house of Mrs Figg, trying to prevent cat fur sticking to his trousers as a large feline rubbed up against him. As soon as Mrs Dursley had left, she had offered him some tea, to which he politely declined. Her tea tasted of cabbage.

"Alright then, Harry dear. You can go out and play in the garden if you'd like."

He grinned, bolting out of the back door. The garden was the only good thing about Mrs Figg's house, in Harry's opinion. There was a huge hedge at the bottom where Mrs Figg couldn't see out of her windows. It had a small hole in the side, leading through a series of narrow tunnels made by himself. They wound through the shrubbery until it reached another street in the neighbourhood. He followed his tunnel, ducking as low as possible as to avoid branches getting caught in his unruly hair. Harry grinned. He loved that nobody else knew of his tunnel.

He found a spot in the middle of the network, huddling up against the branches. It was cosy and quiet, with just the right amount of light filtering through the dense foliage. Still grinning, Harry stuck his hand into a veil of leaves until the most part of his arm disappeared. He felt around for a few moments before placing his hand atop of the object he desired. The boy always hid a few things in here to play with, wrapped in a little plastic bag. Nothing special; just a variety of spinning tops, toy soldiers and a few pencils he'd been meaning to use. His hand brushed over something else. Harry jolted slightly, tugging at both items. The familiar bag came into view, along with something that perturbed Harry greatly- mostly because it meant he wasn't the only one who came in here and hid things. He checked his bag to make sure nothing was stolen. Fortunately everything was present and he went back to the new object.

It was an old book. He looked both ways, making sure no-one was watching from somewhere in the bushes. Someone could have dropped it accidentally, Harry thought, so the least he could do was see what was in it. He turned it over in his hands carefully as it looked fragile. The covers were dark leather, worn from use and slightly wet from the moisture of the morning dew. Harry opened it gently to inspect the inside for anything that might have indicated an owner. He was baffled when he found no such thing. Actually, he couldn't find anything. It was completely empty. Nothing. Not even a name scribbled anywhere, or any note of where it was made- just page after page of coarse, slightly-yellowed paper. It was obvious that it had never been used, so now Harry's only dilemma was what to do with it. Should he leave it there in case the owner came back? Should he take it? There was something appealing about the softened leather cover; cracked and floppy like it had been the dearest thing in the world to someone, yet held nothing inside. It sat lightly in his hands, as naturally as the sun sat in the sky. It wasn't like there was anything important written in it…surely it wouldn't be missed. He'd always wanted a notebook. Placing it to one side for later, Harry began to play with his toy soldiers before Mrs. Dursley came to pick him up.

"Harry! Harry dear! Your Aunt is here!"

At the sound of Mrs Figg's voice, Harry quickly stuffed his toys back into his bag. First the toy soldiers- there were twenty of them- plus five spinning tops, and three pencils; two coloured and one for sketching. Before he placed the last pencil in, he stopped to regard the book. It would surely give him something to occupy himself with when the Dursley's locked him in his cupboard. He stuffed the small book into his sock, the graphite pencil into the other and then scrambled out of his tunnel.

The rest of the day was filled with Harry's usual chores. At three-thirty, Dudley came bounding into the house with Mr Dursley demanding a bar of chocolate and knocking Harry over. The small boy picked himself up whilst Dudley snorted at him loudly, moving to the kitchen to prepare the dinner. After they Dursleys had eaten, he was given a small ham sandwich and locked inside his cupboard. They weren't to realise that this wasn't much of a punishment anymore, now that Harry had something to do. Once settled, Harry pulled the book and pencil from his socks and grinned.

In the dull light of his cupboard, the paper seemed to glow slightly. He brought it to his nose and inhaled. It smelled just like a book was supposed to; woody, crisp and slightly stale. Harry picked up the pencil and began to write his name on the front page.

_-My name is Harry Potter_

The boy beamed with pride at the scrawly, misshapen writing on his new possession. He quickly decided he would write in it every day. What would he draw first? He looked around his cupboard in thought; however, when his eyes returned to the page in front of him, he jumped. The space where had just written his name was empty. Shaking his head, he dismissed the event as a trick of the eye. The pencil mustn't have been touching the paper properly. He almost dropped the book when something began to form on the page. It was in a distinct, cursive script that was most certainly not Harry's handwriting.

_-Hello Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle._

Harry was speechless. His mouth began to open and close in awe. He turned it over, inspecting it closely for anything suspicious. When he found no such thing, Harry checked his temperature to make sure he wasn't sick. He knew that the ham his aunt had given him didn't taste right. The book seemed to sense his hesitation, for another note began to bloom on the page.

_-Tell me Harry, how did you come across my diary?_

The boy grasped his pencil and decided to jot down a reply. As a child, he was naturally inquisitive about such a fascinating object.

_-You're a talking book? _

_-I'm a person. I was trapped inside a long time ago. How did you come to own this book?_

Harry's mind flashed with the picture of a tiny old man running through the pages. He giggled.

_-I found it. Who are you?_

Harry was intrigued. How could this even be possible? How could someone be inside a book?

_-I do believe I have already told you. I am Tom Riddle. If you please, Harry, where did you find my book?_

Whoever he was, he sounded smart. The boy eagerly scribbled down his answer.

_-Sorry Tom. I have never met a talking book before._

Met? Was that the correct way to describe this peculiar happening? Harry mused, before continuing.

_-I found you in a hedge at the bottom of someone's garden._

The book paused, soaking in his words as he wrote them. Why someone would throw away such an amusing object was beyond him.

_-Thank you for picking me up, Harry. I'm sure I would have died of boredom if I'd been left there. How old are you, friend?_

_-10_

He sat there for a few moments, absorbing the situation. He couldn't think of any logical explanation to why the book was writing back. Truth be told, it scared Harry. It scared him almost as much as the time he had ended up on the roof after one of Dudley's bullying sessions, with no idea of how he got there. With all these things happening that Harry couldn't explain, it made him wonder if there was something very strange happening. He quickly shut the book and placed it under his bedding, pushing all thoughts of Tom Riddle and the diary from his mind.

It was three weeks before Harry went near the diary again. He had resumed school, much to the chagrin of the Dursleys and his teachers. By now it was June, almost the end of his last year at primary school and Dudley's birthday. Harry dreaded Dudley's birthday more than any day of the year. For the whole day he was forced to be Dudley's personal slave, doing everything at his beck and call. Last year Dudley had made him lick the ground. And if that wasn't enough, Harry had to endure his squeals of disapproval if he received a present he didn't like, cook his meals and prepare the house for the parties. After that he would be sent to Mrs Figg for the rest of the evening. At least that allowed him to escape from his cousin for a few hours.

Unfortunately Mrs Figg had tripped and broken her leg, and was unable to look after Harry. The boy had to watch as Dudley screamed and cried about how he didn't want Harry ruining his birthday, as Petunia fussed over him and simpered that she wouldn't let him ruin her "Dudleykin's" special day.

This brought Harry to the predicament he appeared to be in now.

The ten-year-old sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the tank. His overweight cousin had exclaimed the animal to be boring and dismissed it immediately, moving onto the next unfortunate reptile. Harry chortled to himself at the sight of Dudley's pig nose squashed against a tank. He wondered vaguely if the snake could see his cousin's tiny brain up his nasal cavity. At least the animals in here would have some amusement today.

The snake currently sleeping before him was a long, green boa, coiled into thick knots of flesh. The poor creature. Harry knew what it was like to be cooped up in a small space all the time.

"Sorry about him. He doesn't understand what it's like; lying there day after day, watching people press their ugly faces in on you."

Harry wished that he'd kept his mouth shut. He should've known that talking to animals is a sign of madness. The snake lifted his head from the rock it rested upon and winked.

"C-can you…_hear_ me?" It nodded as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Harry gulped, deciding a little conversation would not go amiss.

He also should've known that Dudley would've wanted to see the snake move. The small boy was violently pushed aside as Dudley pressed up against the glass, shouting for his parents to come look. Well. He _was_ pressed up against the glass. Harry felt a surge of strangeness wash over him, fingers throbbing and head pounding. All of a sudden, the glass was no longer there. It has vanished, causing Dudley to fall forward into the water at the base of the tank. The snake slipped over the bar and onto the floor, stopping in front of Harry.

"Thanksss." It hissed. The snake talked. There was a snake talking to him.

"Anytime?" Harry replied, slightly convinced it might attack him were he not to give a response. He watched from his space on the floor as it slid out of the reptile house to a chorus of screams from other visitors. His attention turned to Dudley, who was standing up to exit the tank. Somehow the glass had re-formed over the entrance, leaving a screaming Dudley trapped inside.

Harry knew he would get the blame.

"There's no such thing as _magic_!"

The door of his cupboard was locked shut with a loud 'click'. Harry remained silent, the sound of Vernon's shouts ringing in his ears. Appearing on the top of the building, his hair growing again overnight when his aunt tried to cut it, the glass disappearing…his luck was really starting to fail him. And that snake! He never realised that snakes could talk. Harry shook his head violently, recalling his Uncle's anger. _There's no such thing as magic. There's no such thing as magic._

He sighed heavily before sinking down onto his thin mattress. The only way that he could see out his punishment was to sleep through it. Harry pulled his tattered blanket up over his shoulders, stretched his legs as far as they could reach, and closed his eyes. Perhaps his luck would improve tomorrow.

Sometime later, Harry was roused from his dreamlike state. The house was still, with naught but the sounds of the steady creaks of the heating breaking the silence. He lay curled in on himself, listening. There were no signs of movement from either up or downstairs. That meant everyone was asleep. Harry squirmed around to stretch, his legs aching from misuse. Arching his back, he lifted his slender hips from the bed and felt his spine give a satisfying crack. He grimaced as something dug into his shoulder. Dismissing it as the mattress, Harry tossed onto his other side. It was still there, now poking painfully into his ribcage. There was no way he could sleep with that-whatever it was jutting into his side. He grumbled, shoving his hand underneath the mattress to see if anything was there. Harry's fingers gently brushed against soft leather.

The diary.

He wouldn't deny that he was _very_ curious about it, especially after what happened today. Harry grabbed it and huddled up in the corner, slightly reluctant to open it. The book looked innocent, sitting there in his hands. Who knew? Maybe Harry had imagined it after all. He carefully opened the first page. It was empty. The boy let out a sigh of relief, shakily smiling to himself.

_-Hello Harry._

That beautifully elegant writing appeared on the yellowed page, much to Harry's horror. So it was real. He fumbled around for his pencil.

_-How did you know I was here?_

He wrote incredulously. The diary simply responded with another gentlemanly reply.

_-I could feel your presence, my dear. For a while now, I have only felt the warmth of my surroundings, yet I could not feel you. Did I frighten you?_

_-Yes._

There was a short pause. His eyes lingered slightly over 'dear'. Tom must really have been an old man. Only Mrs. Figg called him dear, and she was old too. Harry was breathing loudly, expelling hot air from his mouth. He wondered vaguely if Tom could feel his breath. Could he feel Harry's hands lightly spreading across the cover? Or the pressure of his wrist on the pages, hand poised and ready to answer?

_-I apologise. It was not my intention to startle you._

Harry smiled.

_-Don't worry, stranger things have happened today._

_-Stranger things?_

The ten-year-old complied, eagerly writing down every detail of the day's events; save the talking snake, as Harry thought that to be stranger than everything. It might make Tom think he was weird. It was just nice to finally have someone to talk to. He found himself wanting to know about Tom- the colour of his hair, his eyes, his skin, the sound of his voice, height, age, background...Harry never thought he would be sat there pouring his heart out to a stranger. He wondered if Tom's hair was white like the old man down the road.

_-Harry, do you believe in Magic?_

_-My uncle told me it doesn't exist._

All of a sudden, the book became searing hot, scalding Harry's small hands and forcing him to drop it into his lap. He gave a small cry, surprised at the pain flaring through his fingers. There was a creak upstairs. Harry froze; silently pleading he hadn't woken his uncle. He sat rigidly, not daring to even breathe loudly. When he was sure no one was awake, he picked the diary back up and resumed his conversation.

_-Tom, what just happened? Your diary burned me!_

Harry checked his burnt hands, caressing the reddened skin. They were still tingling.

_-Please forgive me. I was angry. I must learn to control myself._

_-It's ok. Angry at what?_

Harry subconsciously stroked the crisp page, as if it would comfort his new-found friend. Whatever it was that had gotten Tom so furious must've been very serious.

_-Your uncle. He sounds like a typical, narrow-minded muggle._

_-What's a muggle?_

_-A non-magical being._

In his cupboard the boy blanched. Was Tom suggesting that magic was _real_? Harry supposed it was the only logical explanation to the current situation, and the scenario at the reptile house today. All his life, strange things had been happening to him, and he had no idea as to why. Harry had always thought that he was just down on luck. Tom must have read his mind, because sure enough, another message appeared.

_-That is correct. Magic is very much real, Harry dear._

He knew it! The boy could hardly keep himself from crying out in triumph, revelling in the fact his uncle had been wrong.

_-Is that why I can talk to snakes? Is that a wizard thing too?_

Immediately, something felt off. The diary's words turned blurry in his grasp, almost as though someone had taken water to his writing. Why did he feel like he'd just said an incredibly stupid thing?

_-You talk to snakes?_

_-The snake I let out of the tank spoke to me._

Harry didn't manage to get another response from Tom that night, however much he tried. In the end, he decided to stash the diary away and sleep for the remainder of his punishment.

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><p><strong>Hoped you enjoyed =D For those of you who have been kind enough to point out any loop holes, I've tried to iron them down. Tom seems to be a bit of luvvie, but just imagine him speaking in that gorgeously intellectual voice of his. I want to marry a gentleman someday. I want to marry William Moseley. So bad.<strong>


	2. In which Harry receives a letter

**I can't apologise enough that I haven't updated this. I published the first chapter on whim, and then sorta lost my mojo. But I've recently just got my mojo back! My exams are finished! I'm happyyyyy~ It's not very good or long, and I probably haven't thought about a lot of things in much depth so please point out spelling errors/grammatical errors/loopholes in the plot to me. And please don't be nasty, my poor little heart can't take criticism very well. I have plans for various things, but if any of you guys have an idea where you want it go as well I'm open for suggestion =) **

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Harry woke up the next morning, receiving a thorough scolding from both his aunt and uncle for spoiling Dudley's birthday. He apologised with his head hung low. It wasn't as if they would believe he was sorry even if he was. After having to endure several minutes of shouting from his uncle, Harry was set just about every chore in the house.<p>

He was stiff all over when he finally curled up on his thin mattress. His hands were sore from scrubbing, his back ached from bending over and there was a hungry throb in his stomach. Wanting nothing more than to stay in bed forever, Harry had slunk into his cupboard as the Dursleys retired to their luxurious bedrooms. Soon the house was filled with the unpleasant snoring noises of Vernon.

Tonight Harry would try to talk to Tom again. He had been thinking about the diary all day, thoughts of magic swimming around in the back of his skull. Thrusting his hand under the lumpy pillow, he searched for the textured surface of his book and pulled it into his lap. Harry wanted to know everything, and was glad he could practise his handwriting too. Tugging the pages open, the sound of his heart beating lightly in his bony chest filled the cupboard. He allowed the pencil to hover over the paper for a moment.

_-Hello Tom._

The granite stayed visible on the page, as clear as day. Harry waited a few more moments. After waiting for what seemed an age, his heart sank a little. He knew it. He just _knew _that telling him about the snake would make Tom not want to be his friend. Or maybe he had just been dreaming, and the diary never 'talked' in the first place. Crestfallen, Harry moved to shut the book. A flicker of black between the closing pages had his pulse quicken and open it again.

_-Good evening, Harry. I apologise for my rude behaviour yesterday._

He gave a small cry of relief, noticing himself become less tense immediately.

-_I thought you didn't want to be my friend anymore. Do you think I'm a freak now?_

_-Heavens no! Of course I want to be your friend, my dear. _

There it was again. Tom had called him _dear_. The only other person that called him that was Mrs Figg, and she was really old. Harry thought this to be especially weird, considering Tom was a man. Maybe Mrs Figg and Tom knew each other somehow. Harry giggled a little. Tom had probably just forgotten he was a boy.

_-Harry? What's wrong?_

_- Do you know I'm not a girl?_

_-Does it make you uncomfortable when I call you that, Harry?_

Harry felt a little guilty admitting it, but it was undoubtedly strange.

_-Very well. _

Harry managed to steer the conversation a little awkwardly back to the topic of the snake at the zoo. He could still vividly see those acidic eyes boring into his soul as smooth, dry scales gently brushed past the hands that anchored him to the floor.

_-I have been giving this much thought. I don't think it's anything to be worried about. _

After that, he decided to drop the topic, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Tom was keeping something from him. Even if he was, Harry reasoned that he probably had a good reason. It was soon forgotten as his curiosity for other things took precedence.

_-Tom, would you tell me more about magic?_

Harry had kept in so many questions since last night about – it made him excited to even say the word in his head – _Magic_. Did witches really have crooked noses? What do wizards wear? How could he learn magic?

_-Very well. What do you wish to know?_

He assaulted Tom with a barrage of questions as fast as he could write, but was forced to stop when his hands began to cramp painfully.

_-Harry, you must slow down. Start with one question at a time please._

_-Sorry.-_Harry Sheepishly replied- _How do I do magic? _

Just then, a soft tap like the falling of card onto carpet broke through the snores and gargles of his family upstairs. He froze, wondering for a moment if it was a burglar. Nothing. Harry wondered if something had fallen from the wooden radiator case. Time to use a trick he had recently perfected-opening the lock on his cupboard from the inside. His eyes scanned around the space, searching for the object that allowed him to do so. Momentarily they flicked over the pages of the diary, where something new had been written.

_-Harry? What's the matter? _

He hastily explained about the noise, before finding a long piece of hardened wire; the remnants of a large paperclip previously owned by his uncle. Harry had found that there was a small gap between the door and the wall, just big enough to fit a piece of wire through such as this one. The door itself had been worn loose on its hinges by Petunia's incessant rapping. This meant that if Harry pushed it as far forward as it would go, the lock became easy to slide backwards and forwards with the piece of hard wire. A little bit of practise had enabled him to do so very quietly. When the lock clicked free, he warily pushed the door open to peek into the hall. On the doormat lay something white.

A letter?

Who would post a letter in the dead of night? Curiosity tugged at his legs, pushing him from out of the cupboard and pulling him towards the door. He approached the letter and picked it up, constantly listening for irregularities within Vernon's snores, or the sounds of the suburban area outside. Harry's heart was pounding in his ears as he read the addressee's name.

_Mr H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

This letter…was for him? Who would have sent a letter to him? Harry barely knew anyone besides the Dursleys. Obviously someone had taken the time to write it and post it to him, so it must have been important. Clutching the letter to his chest, Harry almost vomited when he heard the huge, rumbling noise of his uncle getting out of bed. He scuttled soundlessly back into his cupboard, pulling the door shut behind him just as Vernon's footsteps reached the base of the stairs. He grasped firmly onto the wooden beams that ran over the top and bottom of the door, digging his nails into the wood and hoping to god that his Uncle wouldn't check the lock. The waddling, lethargic footsteps passed his door into the kitchen, where Harry heard glass on a counter and the tap running.

Harry felt sick. His arms had begun to ache from clasping onto the wooden beam tightly, and an uncomfortable dizzy sensation overtaken him. Vernon plodded back through to the hall and up the stairs. Harry felt the nausea sink as he heard his uncle's steps retreat back into the bedroom slowly. He let out a breath, before picking the diary back up and looking at the letter with interest.

_-What is it Harry?_

Tom wrote, writing elegantly scrawling across the pages beneath. Harry sniffed and explained about the letter, still greatly perplexed.

_-I have an idea as to what it may be. Keep it hidden. They will try to take the letter from you Harry._

He wrinkled his small nose. Why would the Dursleys want to take this letter away so badly? Harry knew they were mean, spiteful and hateful, but it would be _too_ unfair to take away one of the few things Harry had ever received. Running his fingers over the back, something bumpy obstructed his touch. He turned it over, taking in a red wax seal with a peculiar emblem laid into it. Harry ripped it open in earnest.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL_

_of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

To say Harry was no less than shocked would have been a colossal understatement. The sender of this letter had answered several of his questions, but now even more had begun to pop into his mind like snowdrops from snow. Harry quickly copied the contents of the letter to Tom, who seemed to perk up.

_-I knew it. I'm very happy for you Harry. You will enjoy Hogwarts. I had a wonderful time there. _

_-You went to there Tom?_

_-Indeed I did. It is exceedingly late. We shall talk about this tomorrow evening. _

As if by sorcery, Harry let out a long, low yawn, suddenly growing weary from the night's events. He was still bursting with questions to ask his new friend, but the tiredness was starting to fuzz his eyes uncomfortably.

"I suppose I can wait 'til tomorrow." He whispered to himself.

_-Good night Tom._

The diary lightly warmed the palm that supported the leather cover, sending a few prickles across the surface of his skin. Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes.

_-Good night, Harry. Sleep well._

He folded the letter between the pages of his book, placing it underneath his mattress. When Harry put his head upon that hard, lumpy pillow, all he could think about was attending Hogwarts. Ideas buzzed backwards and forwards in his child mind; of pumpkins, bats and stars; of candles, robes, wands, hats, witches and wizards, all bustling around to classes. These ideas slowly serenaded him into the sweet caress of a gentle sleep, filled with dreams of endless stone corridors within an unfamiliar, ancient castle. In his dream, Harry lost himself in the never-ending void.

XXX

As the hot, summer days progressed, Harry found himself talking to Tom every single night. They mostly talked about Harry's family and how they treated him, but also of the wondrous school of Hogwarts and its magnificent history. Tom taught him of the four great wizards who founded it, and the houses that were named after them, whilst Harry read his flowing script with a childish eagerness.

_-What house were you in Tom?_

He asked, curious to know a little more about his enigmatic new friend. Tom rarely spoke of himself, especially when Harry asked. He had yet to find out anything about Tom's background, which perturbed him greatly.

_-I was in Slytherin. It is really a misunderstood house, unlike what you will hear from others Harry. I'd say that Slytherin rivals Ravenclaw in intelligence._

_-What are Slytherins like?_

_-Slytherins must show cunning, ambition and resourcefulness. _

Harry liked the sound of this house more than the others. He didn't consider himself as fiercely loyal as a Hufflepuff, nor as sharp-minded as a Ravenclaw, and definitely, _definitely _not as stupid as a Gryffindor brave. Bravery hadn't gotten him anywhere so far. Standing up to the Dursleys was stupid and idiotic. Moreover, Harry didn't have clue how he would purchase any of the items on the uniform list- let alone the books, cauldron or the familiar. Where did one go to buy an owl, anyway? The Dursleys certainly wouldn't take him- that was for sure. Harry wasn't even certain that the Dursleys would allow him to attend Hogwarts.

_-If I'm going to Hogwarts, how am I going to get away from my family? And how will I buy the items I need?_

A small pool of panic had been sitting stagnant at the back of his mind for a while. What if they forbade him from going? Harry just knew he would burst if he didn't escape from them. There was no way he could join a normal secondary school now.

_-I have an idea Harry, but you'll have to do exactly as I say. _

For the remainder of the night, Harry carefully followed Tom's instructions as best he could.

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><p><strong>I'm trying to make Tom seem friendly yet manipulative in a subtle way, but he has a very difficult character to pin down. My apologies if he seems OOC at any point. Also, t<strong>**he traits of a Slytherin are arguable. Slytherins are very determined people, and will use any means to get what they want. They are intelligent, and need to be sharp-minded and opinionated. Not unlike Ravenclaw, just less OCD and wit. Tom Riddle was a true Slytherin-literally and trait-wise. Of course there are exceptions (like Crabbe and Goyle…)**


	3. In which Harry cooks bacon

**So chuffed right now! I've had great responses to the first two chapters. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. Please keep reading! I know it's short, but I hope it's satisfying.**

**Review replies:**

**Emeralds: I guess Crabbe and Goyle only got into Slytherin because of their blood. Surely not for their winning personalities…On another note, thanks for your great review ^^ Well, people who use the word 'dear' as a pet name are usually older people speaking to a loved one or someone younger than them. Tom wants to seem as though he is friendly and older/wiser than Harry, so uses this term. Obviously Harry doesn't like it that much. Thank you for all of your support ^^ **

**Itachinarutoyaoihpvoldielover: That's something you'll have to find out in a later chapter =3 Thanks for your review!**

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><p>The next day, Petunia dropped Harry off at Mrs Figg's house whilst she, Vernon and Dudley went to visit some friends. Harry had quickly stuffed the diary and the letter down his sock, running straight to his hole in the hedge. There, he curled up with the diary and pulled out his plastic bag of toys. Tom told him tales of magical creatures, and Harry read intently. Then he coloured his friend a picture of a pixie in the back of the book.<p>

_-I'm almost finished. _

_-It's wonderful already Harry. Thank you._

_-I bet I could make it even better!_

He wrote, digging his hand into his bag to search for the final touch- blue pencil; however, his fingers brushed over another unfamiliar object. Harry pulled it out.

A golden ring sat in the palm of his hand. It felt heavy, most likely from the black stone that was set into the metal. Like he had done with the diary, he looked around to see if the owner was watching from a hidden place. Harry wondered if, it too, was magical. He slid the object into his sock, where it nestled next to his letter, and resumed colouring.

When the Dursleys came to pick him up, Mrs Figg bade him farewell- but not before pressing a lollipop into his fingers. Harry was truly grateful for this small gift, but knew that his uncle would confiscate if from him as soon as Mrs Figg could not see.

_- There is nothing wrong with getting what you want. It is much simpler than you think,_

Tom told him that night, whilst they were discussing the ring and the lollipop.

_-You must use the situation to your advantage. I know you are capable of it. You are an intelligent boy._

Harry found himself blushing slightly.

_-I believe the best course of action in this circumstance is to make yourself the victim. Say for example that your Aunt's friends have come to visit. You would like something that you are not usually allowed. Ask for it whilst they are present, and she is less likely to refuse in fear of looking cruel in front of them. Could you do that, Harry?_

He sucked on the end of his pencil, frowning in concentration. Tom's words made perfect sense- there was no reason why he couldn't have what should really be his.

The next hour or so was spent talking about the ring. A series of lines, delicately engraved into the surface, ran across the surface in a serpentine fashion. Harry told Tom all about the stone, which, at certain angles, was clear; at others it was a deep smoky-grey. A strange pattern carved into the stone caught his attention the most. It was a triangle, separated by a single line that ran from the top peak and finished perpendicular to the base. Within the triangle was a circle, touching the straight sides only just. Tom seemed particularly intrigued by this piece of jewellery, exclaiming to Harry that he knew naught of it save the fact it was a very old item. He persuaded Harry to keep the ring, so he slipped it back into his sock. He smiled, albeit a little crookedly. It was like someone was leaving beautiful presents for him. At first, he had felt a little wrong when he took the diary for himself, but this time Harry had felt no remorse whatsoever.

XXX

The day after that was a strange day in late July; the air was dank and heavy with moisture, and the grey clouds masked over the suburban landscape like a film of grey oil. The misty vapour that shrouded Little Whinging that day did nothing to lower the recent temperatures. They had been soaring high ever since the seventh month had begun, so the inhabitants of Surrey did naught but stay indoors with their electric fans on high. Those brave enough to venture out into the humid air would find themselves with frizzing hair and a sheen of sweat forming across their brows.

Petunia was situated on the living room sofa, a large, white plastic fan standing to the right of her head. A cool breeze blew against her dark hair, which was slightly less orderly than usual, much to her irritation. Harry was more than happy to oblige when she ushered him into the front garden to water her plants. Dudley sat next to her with his podgy legs dangling over the side of the cushions, his eyes kept firmly glued to the television. His cousin's snorts of laughter and Vernon loudly complaining about the 'ruddy weather' through the open front door were heard from time to time.

A little while later, whilst watering the pots that bordered the street path, he spotted what seemed to be a small, unopened packet on the ground. Picking it up, Harry inspected the front of this curious item. Chocolate stars!

"MUUUUUM! HARRY HAS SWEETS!"

Dudley, who had appeared at the door, bounded across the lawn and grabbed the packet out of his hands. Harry was pushed over on the gritty pavement.

"Harry dear, are you alright?" The wizened voice of Mrs Figg drew his attention to the elderly lady who was standing above him, a concerned expression on her features. Remembering what Tom had told him, Harry began to cry; a tactic Dudley used fairly often when he wanted something. "There, there! What happened?"

He sniffled loudly as she helped him up, giving a small peek at the incredulous, stupid look on Dudley's face. Petunia and Vernon joined him from the doorway.

"What in the bloody hell is going on!" Grumbled Vernon, face red and dripping with sweat. Harry's heartbeat accelerated. Pointing a finger at Dudley, he grasped another hand around the sleeve of Mrs Figg's blouse.

"He pushed me over and stole my sweets, Mrs Figg!" Harry proclaimed. He watched as the woman turned towards Dudley, who had already opened the bag of chocolate. She sent him a scornful look. Vernon and Petunia stood behind their son, almost as flabbergasted as he was.

"That wasn't very nice, Dudley. Aren't you going to give it back?" Mrs Figg said, holding out her palm. Dudley's mouth flapped open and closed a few times, so much so that Harry could liken him to a great inflated puffer-fish. His cousin looked back at his parents, neither of whom had anything to say on the matter. Dudley timidly reached towards Mrs Figg, placing the packet of chocolate stars in her grip. She gave them back to Harry, who began munching on them immediately. It was likely that as soon as she was gone they would take it back from him again.

Mrs Figg gave Harry a kindly smile, bid Petunia and Vernon good afternoon and set off down the street. By the time she was out of view, Harry had finished his chocolate stars. It had been so long since he had eaten sweets that the experience was almost completely new. The taste was delicious; the chocolate lined his mouth with a sweetness that lasted for hours afterwards. Harry was surprised Tom's advice had even worked. Even his aunt and uncle didn't speak another word of it the entire day, which was always good; however, Dudley was by far the worst affected. He sat on the couch until teatime and didn't speak a single word.

Harry felt smug for the rest of the evening.

_-You see? Like I have said, you are very smart for your age. You will do well in Hogwarts. _

Harry's chest swelled with pride, grinning wildly to himself in his cupboard. Not even the horrific snoring of Vernon could quell his happiness.

_-People are very cruel Harry, all you need to do is learn how to protect yourself from them. Oh, I almost forgot- have you had a reply to the letter?_

Immediately after Tom asked this, the sound of card falling onto the doormat hit Harry's ears. Two nights after Harry had received his letter from Hogwarts, Tom instructed him to reply to it himself and arrange to be picked up. That way the Dursleys wouldn't know he was leaving until the day he had organised to go.

_-I think it just came._

Harry quickly undid the lock on his door and tiptoed over to the letterbox. A piece of paper of the same shape and size as his previous letter lay on the doormat, the wax seal glaring up at him. He snatched it and returned to his cupboard to read it.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We have arranged for an escort to collect you at 9:00AM on July 31__st__. Your escort shall accompany you to Diagon Alley, where you may purchase the items on your equipment and uniform lists._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

He grinned to himself, pleased at the result. Looking down at the diary, he saw that Tom had written something in his beautiful hand.

_-Well? What does it say Harry?_

Briefly jotting down the contents of the letter, Harry noted that he couldn't stop smiling. Today was the 30th, and tomorrow was not only the day of his escape, but his 11th birthday.

_-Tomorrow is also my birthday! _

_-Truly? That is wonderful! Do you ever receive presents from those awful muggles? I am rather curious to know who your parents were, as well._

He frowned, looking around the small, dark space he inhabited. The Dursleys had never put any effort into giving him a present. Most of the things he owned were found, made or from Dudley's broken toy collection. As for his parents…he had no clue, however much he wished he did. He had already told his friend everything he knew.

_-Last year they gave me a sock._

Like it had once before, the diary started to rise in temperature, until it was almost too hot for Harry to hold. Tom seemed really angry. Maybe something like this had happened to him before.

_-I am honestly sorry that I cannot give you material objects, but I can give you something._

Harry asked what, to which Tom replied with a 'wait until tomorrow'. They said their goodnights, and Harry curled up with the diary and letters under his mattress, and the ring planted in his sock. His eyelids fluttered shut. Sleep that night brought nothing but a strange sensation; one that induced his stomach to flip in his dreamlike state as he dreamed of a handsome young man whom he had never met, and the face of man carved within stone in a chamber of darkness.

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><p>For the 12th time that morning, Harry checked the clock that was ticking away on the mantelpiece. 8:46. The Dursleys had all risen early, as they were taking Dudley shopping for school supplies, and Harry was in the kitchen area preparing a large breakfast. Vernon came banging down the stairs, hauling his weight around like an elephant.<p>

"Don't burn anything boy! Dudley will need his strength today!"

"Yes Uncle Vernon."

Another glance. 8:47.

He retrieved three plates from the cupboard carefully, trying not to let the excitement burning in his veins show. It would not do well to smash things carelessly; after all, he'd be coming back next summer. Feeling the full wrath of these people was not desirable. The delicious smell coming from the pan containing bacon and eggs attacked his nose, eliciting a grumble from his stomach. Harry glanced at the clock again, trying to take his mind off of his hunger. 8:52. He quickly decanted the contents of the pans onto the plates, rushing over to the table and placing them before Petunia, Dudley and Vernon.

Suddenly, a large, grumbling roar erupted from outside, causing Petunia to jump and drop her fork.

"What on _earth _is that!" She proclaimed, as Dudley covered his ears. They turned to face the conservatory windows, where the noise seemed to be coming from. Outside a huge motorcycle, coupled with an even huger man, jumped into the garden over the fence. Petunia blanched. Dudley screamed. Vernon turned a beautiful shade of purple.

Harry just smiled.

The huge owner of the motorbike dismounted. Through the glass, Harry could see he was very, _very _hairy. He wore a long, dirty coat, oily and fuzzy from over-use; colossal boots adorned his feet; his nose was plump and round like a fat, over-ripe cherry, and his hair was a nest of black, un-brushed curls. Said man (Harry didn't know if he was even human) looked around in a puzzled manner, before spying the kitchen and walking across to knock on the patio door. Harry grabbed the keys from the counter before anyone could protest, and unlocked the door.

"'Arry Potter?" Asked the giant, his accent heavy and jovial. Harry nodded silently, turning back towards the family that was close to cowering in fear. He decided that he liked them more when they were frightened. It made him feel as though their positions had been reversed. Puffing up his chest, he readied himself to notify them of his departure.

"I am attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

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><p><strong>*dies* My fingers have practically just run a marathon. I've got so many ideas and good stuff for this story, I'm excited already! It was a little rushed I'm sorry, but I'm quite happy with the result and can't wait to write the next chapter.<strong>

**Have you noticed that Harry seems to be getting smarter? I wonder whose influence that is =3. And what will Tom give to Harry? What will Harry buy in Diagon Alley? What about the ring? Who is leaving things in the hedge?**

**I may have made Mrs Figg a bit OOC, but who cares it's Fanfiction baby!**

**Hope you enjoyed =)**


	4. In which Harry sleeps in a double bed

**Hey everybody. I know it's been a very long time, and I apologise for that. From this chapter onwards I've fixed that huuuuuuuge timing problem that a few people pointed out. I'm still mortified I made it, but I was watching the film when I wrote this chapter and that misses out like a whole month. It was so much harder to fix than I initially anticipated so I put it off for months. Now it's finally done and I can get the rest of the story on the go.**

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><p>"YOU WHAT?!" Roared Vernon, slamming his fat hand down onto the table and making the cutlery rattle. Petunia squealed a little, moving over towards her son. Harry looked at the giant stranger in exasperation. As his uncle sat and fumed from his chair, the man cleared his throat and introduced himself.<p>

"'Ello, the name's Rubeus Hagrid," He said, holding out a large hand for Harry to shake. The boy took it, laughing a little when Hagrid almost shook his arm off. "I'm yer escort to Hogwarts!"

Harry smiled through his raw excitement, trying to force the adrenaline in his body not to cause his voice to waver.

"NO YOU ARE NOT! He is NOT going! I refuse! _I do not allow it_!" Vernon raged, standing up so abruptly that his chair fell over backwards. Harry stood his ground, looking back at his new acquaintance. Hagrid rolled his eyes.

"An' what exactly is a great muggle like you goin' to do abou' tha'?" He jested, "Oh! Nearly forgot!" Hagrid reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a white box. "Happy birthday! I may 'ave sat on it at one point…"

Harry took the box from him, eyes gleaming in childish delight at the present. This was the most he'd ever received from anyone! He opened the lid carefully, as though it would break; there sat a cake that was dripping with pink icing and had the words 'Hapee Birthdae Harry' squeezed over in green. The gloopy mess of sugar that drooled down the sides made him salivate a little. He had a bit of iced cake once when Petunia's friends came over for afternoon tea, and to be frank, he had dreamed about having more ever since.

"T-hank you!" He exclaimed, the astonishment clear in his voice. Hagrid smiled.

"Baked it myself, words an' all!" The giant exclaimed, looking mightily proud of himself. Harry decided that he liked Hagrid; he seemed simple and easy to talk to.

"He will not be going!" His uncle began. His beautiful shade of purple had turned to an angry blue. "We swore we would put a stop to this nonsense when we took him in!"

It did not surprise Harry that his family had known about his magical disposition all along. Tom had theorised this a while ago as they sat and talked about Harry's mistreatment and segregation one night. Furthering that, Tom had even gone so far to say that Harry's parents probably had not died in a car crash, like the Dursleys had told him, and that they had possibly reached their demise due to the very magic that Harry was now about to learn. This information frightened him significantly; the prospect of reaching the same end of his parents, however unknown, was still a harrowing concept that young Harry did not wish to overly dwell upon. He had just begun to accept the fact that he didn't even know the first thing about them. Because of this, he said nothing and watched the conversation between Hagrid and his uncle (which included Vernon spitting out more objections through his flabby lips).

"I will not pay for some washed up fool to teach him magic tricks!"

Hagrid reached into his coat and pulled out a pink umbrella, brandishing it in Vernon's face. A serious look had befallen his face, beady eyes watching the smaller man shy away from the object as though it were a venomous snake.

"Don't ever. Insult Albus Dumbledore. In front of me." Vernon let loose a most unmanly whine. Harry decided he liked Hagrid a lot. He looked at his watch, electing to jump in with a contribution. Harry wanted to seem intelligent, but in actuality he just wanted to go buy some cool wizard stuff. And get away from his family.

"I'll be out of your hair until next summer uncle Vernon. You won't have to feed me, or buy me new clothes or anything. It'll be like I never existed."

Harry heard Petunia gasp a little. Vernon looked at her. She looked at Vernon.

"WOOHOOO!" Dudley shouted from his place at the table, the napkin around his neck soaking in grease from his plate. Harry gestured to Hagrid that now was the time to leave, as neither of the guardians were making any objections to such a good bargain. With the diary and letter safely tucked away in one sock- the ring in the other, since he still did not like the idea of wearing it- Harry slid out of the patio doors after Hagrid, following him across Petunia's spoilt lawn to the motorbike.

Harry didn't look back. If he had, he would have seen a family of three; a mother, father and son, sitting at the table and eating breakfast like nothing had ever happened.

Hagrid patted the seat of the sidecar, flight goggles already adorning his face.

"Park yer bum in 'ere 'Arry." The tall man said, mounting the seat of the bike. He reached into his endless supply of pockets again and pulled out another pair of goggles. "Don't want ta lose yer glasses do you?"

"Thanks!" Harry said, accepting the item and hopping into the snug little sidecar. It was padded with leather; quite comfortable, and certainly very cosy. "Hagrid…?" He asked, peeking up at his companion. "How are we meant to get out of the garden?"

Hagrid smiled.

"Hold on."

All of a sudden, the motorbike gave a huge bang and the next minute Harry found himself flying in the air, five feet off the ground. Higher and higher they climbed, until he could marvel at the tire-tracks left by the vehicle in the Dursley's garden. Farther and farther they ascended from Harry's small cupboard, his home, the hedge in Mrs Figg's garden…his entire life up until now. He felt it all fall away as the bike surged forward, the engine roaring over the sound of the wind rushing past his ears. Little Whinging gave way to the rolling hills of countryside, which changed to small settlements and towns dotted here and there, and finally the beginning of London. Harry clutched onto the birthday cake on his lap. He wanted to savour it later while talking to Tom. Speaking of Tom, Harry was anxious and excited to discover what he had in store for him. Tom couldn't give him a material gift, so then how would Tom have anything to give him? How did that make any sense? Harry smiled, picturing a wizened old man in dark blue robes that were dotted with moons and stars. Not forgetting the hat, of course; magicians always wore pointy hats, like the magician in that Mickey Mouse movie he had seen with the brooms that multiplied when you chopped them up.

It was 11:24AM when Harry and Hagrid touched down London. Hagrid had parked the motorbike on the side of a street and ushered Harry along amidst mumbles about not having enough time. Hagrid's hair had been swept backwards by the wind, exposing his chubby, reddened cheeks. Harry thought he looked a little like Santa.

"Allllright then 'Arry! Let's get going."

Assuming he meant Diagon Alley, Harry nodded and smiled, straightening his own hair. A few muggles in the street stared at his companion as they walked silently past, marvelling at his near impossible height. Harry grimaced a little. To be truthful, he still felt very strange using that word; up until recently he had thought himself to be a non-magical being. After knowing a muggle upbringing for almost his entire life, Harry felt hypocritical using it.

He followed Hagrid down a bustling, cobbled road, having to run a little to keep up with the man's lumbering steps. At the end of the road, they turned towards an old public house. The sign hung from an aging metal bar that creaked in the gentle breeze, threatening to fall off and strike the unsuspecting civilian from above. Whatever was left of the paint on the wood itself was peeling away, faded from time and wear. Harry could just about make the words out.

"The Leaky Cauldron." Hagrid pronounced proudly, as if it belonged to him. The pub itself looked ancient; crumbling bricks, murky windows and walls that seemed a little less straight than they should be. Harry had no idea what this dirty pub had to do with buying school supplies, but he trusted Hagrid enough to have his reasons. Hagrid was simple, he had gathered.

Inside was dimly lit. As Harry's eyes adjusted to the low light, his ears picked up the sound of jovial chatter, music and the clinking of tankards. Hagrid and he approached the bartender, exchanging a few words while Harry looked around. People in robes, hats, cloaks; people with chameleons, cats and owls, an array of wizened old men and women, interspersed with a few whose faces he could not see. Harry guessed they were all magical folk.

"…'ry Potter to 'Ogwarts."

Was all Harry caught of what Hagrid had said before the whole room went silent. Everyone turned, fixing their eyes on him. Somebody at the back of the room began to clap.

"What's happening?" He said nervously, watching as the whole room erupted into a roar of clapping and cheering, a few strange people coming up to shake his hand.

"Hagrid, I want to leave." The giant man nodded slightly, gently pushing Harry on the back in the right direction. Harry's ears were ringing with noise as they entered a store room, a large brick wall facing them. Why where those people applauding him? What had he done? Pushing his thoughts aside, he decided that his new questions could wait until later this evening when he and Hagrid could talk properly.

Hagrid took out his pink umbrella, tapping the bricks in a pattern.

"Woah!" Harry exclaimed as the bricks started to unfold away, revealing a heaving alleyway full of marvellous sights and smells.

"This," Hagrid said, sweeping his arm around "Is Diagon Alley! This is where you'll find everything yer need fer school."

"But Hagrid, how can I buy anything if I don't have any money?"

His new acquaintance looked as though he had just remembered something important, feeling his jacket with those sausage-like fingers for yet another item. Harry wondered how much Hagrid actually kept in his coat alone. The man pulled out a hessian bag, dropping it into Harry's hands. It was heavy, feeling full of what seemed to be coins. The boy pulled open the drawstring and peeked inside. There was a large pile of glittering gold coins, waiting to be used.

"Professor Dumbledore took the liberty of taking out the amount you'd need. The key to yer bank is also in there."

Harry spotted a small key lying in amongst the reticule. He smiled. Tom had told him a few things about the bank of Gringotts and the grumpy goblins that inhabited it. It didn't seem like a pleasant or even interesting way to begin his shopping trip, so he was glad in the knowledge the money had been taken out already. Hagrid and he began to walk down the street and mingle with the crowd.

Whilst visiting the book shop, Harry's stomach began to protest in hunger. Hagrid had left him momentarily on confidential 'Hogwarts business', so the boy had taken the opportunity to sit down and engross himself in a tantalising volume which focused on curing magical sicknesses. After a rather large tummy rumble, Harry decided it best to return to the pub for some food. There was no rush to purchase any items, as he had a whole month here. After buying the necessary textbooks, he met Hagrid outside, who stood carrying a large box that was riddled with holes.

"'Appy birthday 'Arry!" He said, smiling widely as he passed the box to the boy. He lifted a hole to his eye, peeking inside. A small, pure-white fluffy kitten sat inside, mewling quietly and shaking with fear.

"Th-thank you so much!" Harry stuttered, almost rendered speechless by the second gift he had received that day.

"I thought you'd suit a cat better. Ain't 'e just lovely?" The giant cooed, scratching the box teasingly and receiving a cute mewl in reply.

"Did ya get them books then?" Hagrid asked.

"Yes, but I figured since we have a while to shop I could take my time with the other things."

"Right you are then. I believe it's time fer a spot of grub, don' you?"

They were currently seated in the Leaky Cauldron enjoying home-made broth. After finishing their meal, Harry bade farewell to his giant friend and went upstairs to retire his room. It had been a very long morning. By now it was roughly 4 o'clock, and so he could think of nothing better to do than to talk to Tom whilst digging into those new textbooks.

The floorboards were creaky, the ceiling was dusty and covered in cobwebs, he loathed going near the en-suite toilet for fear of the green thing he had discovered lurking in there and the room rattled from the train that passed every hour. But Harry didn't care, because he got to sleep in a double bed for the first time ever. Finally he could stretch himself out properly and sleep in whatever position he wanted, or roll over to the other side without smacking his head on the wall.

Harry was also desperate to talk to Tom and tell him about everything that had happened today. He sunk into the mattress, picking up the box with his new kitten in. Carefully, he removed the cardboard lid. The kitten, which had been asleep, opened its eyes blearily and got up to stretch. Harry giggled as the feline yawned. It mewled, looking up at Harry. He slowly reached a hand in, allowing it to sniff his finger. The tiny animal licked it, deeming him to be trustworthy. Harry laughed and picked it up, placing it on his lap.

"You're so cute…What shall I call you?"

Harry tickled its snow-white ear as it settled down, purring. He pulled the diary and pencil from his sock, opening it for the first time today.

_-Hello Harry. Happy birthday!_

_-Hi Tom! Thank you. I've had the best day of my life!_

Harry beamed, telling him all about Hagrid and his flying motorbike and Diagon Alley.

_-Hagrid bought me a kitten too. I think it's a boy, but I don't know what to call it._

He stroked the kitten's head softly, careful not to wake it.

_-Hmm. What does it look like?_

Observing the small feline properly for the first time, Harry noted the colour of its fur on the very tip of the tail.

_-It's snow-coloured, and has a grey bit on its tail._

_-How about Muguet?_

_-Muguet? What's that?_

_-It's French. It's pronounced 'moo-gway'._

"Moo-gway…" Harry said out aloud. The kitten's ears pricked a little, snuggling its miniscule head closer into his legs.

_-What does it mean?_

_-It means 'Lily of the Valley', which is a white flower. I think it is very befitting of your new friend._

"Muguet," Harry said again, placing his hand atop the tiny creature. He could feel its breath; its fragile heart; the brittle bones that stuck out of its hips. Muguet opened his eyes, looking up at Harry. He smiled, already attached to his new familiar.

_-Oh, I almost forgot! Tom wrote. –I have something for you._

His heart skipped a beat. Harry had been anticipating this since last night, when Tom had refused to tell him what it was. After much consideration, he had decided that it could not possibly be a material object. Maybe it was a drawing? Or a story of some kind? Whatever it was- if it was from Tom, Harry knew he would love it.

_-First, I want you to lie back and make yourself comfortable._

The boy picked Muguet up gently and placed him on the bed next to the pillow. Muguet meowled in frustration of being woken, but curled up on the blanket and resumed his sleep. Harry plumped up his pillow, fanning his legs and arms out in luxury.

_-Now place the diary over your heart and close your eyes Harry._

He scrunched up his face. What on earth was Tom doing? He picked up his pencil and awkwardly wrote a reply.

_-Why?_

_-I need you to trust me. You will like this._

Reluctantly, he pressed the open book over his heart, feeling it speed up minutely. Why was he nervous? Tom wouldn't hurt him…would he? Suddenly, a warm, tingly feeling pulsated through his chest. Harry jolted forward in surprise, but remained lying down. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Again, something that felt like golden rain falling on his chest radiated outwards from the pages, slowly warming all of his extremities. It got warmer and warmer, hot enough that Harry felt himself begin to erupt in golden light. As his vision clouded, images flitted in and out of his mind, so vivid that Harry believed himself to be there.

A little boy, held in the arms of a woman with fiery hair.

A house in a quiet village.

The smiling eyes of a bespectacled man.

His limbs burned with a strange sensation; however no pain was felt after each successive wave of warmth rolled over him. They became more frequent, almost erratic- now Harry was in a rose garden, surrounded by lush verdure and fragrant petals. He ran his fingers through the grass…it all felt so real… In this strange vision, Harry lay down, inhaling deeply and feeling the stress seep from his small body.

Then, as abruptly as he had left normality, the boy found himself lying on the double bed back in the Leaky Cauldron, limbs heavy and eyes drooping. He yawned, rolled over and fell straight asleep.

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><p><strong>I know it may seem long and unnecessary, but there are critical points and differences in the way that Harry is changing that I thought I best add in. There isn't much Tom in this chapter, but Tom needn't be in every chapter.<strong>

**About Hagrid. I've noticed that in a lot of Diary fics or fics that involve Harry not necessarily being a person of complete light make Harry not like Hagrid. I don't think it would be like that. I can see him as being more of a neutral- he likes some people, and doesn't like others. With good reason, of course. He isn't a Gryffindor. He's matured a little with the help of Tom, so therefore has sharpened his observational skills. He can read people a little better and won't jump into friendships. This is all subconsciously, of course, Harry won't realise he's doing it. That's just how children develop. **

**Ollivander doesn't usually make wand cores out of anything but Unicorn hair, Phoenix feathers or Dragon heartstrings because they are the most magically potent; however, other things like Veela and Thestral hair have been known to be used before. I thought Thestral hair just suited Harry. He's already seen a lot of death. And about Merlin's wand. I don't know about his wand core, but I have read that it was made of Lignum Vitae. **

**Muguet is the French word for Lily of the Valley. This plant is the centre of many legends. Some believe that it sprung up where the Virgin Mary cried when Jesus was crucified. Others believe it was Eve's tears when she was expelled from Eden. Others believe it was blood shed from a dragon. I have also read that it used to be believed anyone planting lily of the valley would die within six months. Most likely because it is poisonous or something, so I thought this plant befitting.**


	5. In which Harry receives his wand

**If there are any incorrections please don't hesitate to point them out. I hope you enjoy. This is more than just a smutty one-shot, so I will be taking my time in developing their relationship and there will be a proper climax to the story. Bear with me. I hope it's interesting enough for you to keep updated with. **

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><p>Harry awoke to the sound of the room shaking with a passing train. It took him a good few minutes to remember where he actually was; having being accustomed to waking up and seeing the wooden floor boards of the Dursley's staircase. Yesterday's happenings had flooded back, eliciting a small giggle from the boy. That strange sensation of golden rain and the fleeting images Harry had seen in his mind's eye…how did Tom do that? He gave a small shudder upon remembering the feeling, small tingles of delight racing down his fingertips. Once asleep, Harry had dreamed of his castle yet again, but more vivid. Almost life-like. The tapestries on the walls were in full, glorious colour; the paintings appeared to have been painted yesterday, glossed and sparkling with glory. It was like Harry had lived there all his life.<p>

After throwing on a pair of Dudley's old jeans and a worn t-shirt, Harry brushed his teeth and plonked himself back onto the bed. He opened Tom's pages, caressing the faded leather. Although he had hoped to talk a little bit prior to meeting Hagrid downstairs for breakfast, he decided it could wait. Smiling, the boy saw that Tom had already written a greeting in his spidery writing.

_-Good morning Harry. I trust you had a pleasurable experience yesterday?_

Harry blushed deeply. Why did that sound so odd?

_-Yes, thank you. How did you do it?_

_-Magic, Harry. Magic._

Smiling, Harry scooted further up the bed, crumpling his knees into his chest with the diary cradled within his arms. He could sense Tom's mirth radiate gently outwards when he held the pages to his chest, as had been done last night; however, something seemed slightly off today. The book felt weaker, more fragile.

_-What happened to you?_

Harry felt a little fluctuation come from the diary, and it began to warm a little.

_-It takes a lot of energy out of me._

He cringed in burning shame, guilty with the knowledge Tom had been suffering because of the present.

_-I'm sorry! I didn't kn-_

_-Please, it was your birthday gift. I could think of nothing I would have liked to do more. You are special to me._

His friend cut Harry off before he could finish the sentence. Special? Him? As he had contemplated much before, Harry saw himself as less than special; especially when it came to Tom. Since Harry possessed neither intelligence nor uniqueness, this whole situation begged the question: What did Tom really want? There was no doubt that his friend made Harry feel good about himself and had helped him more than he cared to admit, but irrespective of this fact Harry had grown slightly wary. Whether or not he was cautious around Tom for a legitimate reason still remained to be seen; perchance he was guarded due to the fact he had never possessed a real friend before. Harry really didn't want to believe that Tom only talked to him because he had to, either.

A small growl in his belly disrupted his chain of thought. Bidding farewell to Tom and picking up Muguet, Harry padded from his room in search of some breakfast. Hagrid was up and waiting for his arrival, engaging the bartender in jovial conversation.

"Good morning Hagrid!" He said, placing a wriggling Muguet onto his shoulder.

"Harry! Yer up early! Fancy some grub?"

The boy was led to a rickety wooden table, where a soapy cloth was washing the surface of its own accord. Hagrid shooed it away as he slammed down two huge, round plates bursting with a traditional, greasy English breakfast. Harry's mouth watered. He had only ever cooked this kind of breakfast, but had never experienced a whole one to himself. Before he began his meal, however, there was a question that needed to be asked.

"Hagrid…" Harry began "Why did all those people clap at me yesterday?"

The giant burst into a large, benevolent grin, his cheeks pinching so much they looked like shiny apples.

"Yer family really 'aven't told you nuthin', 'ave they?" He said, forking a colossal sausage into his mouth. Harry shook his head, still confused and infuriatingly interested. Picking up his own fork, he gave into his empty stomach and began to tear at a rasher of bacon. Once Hagrid had finished chewing, he leaned closer, excitement gleaming in those beady eyes.

"Yer defeated one'a the most evil wizards ever to walk this Earth!" He proclaimed, slapping Harry on the back in jubilation. The boy stared blankly. Was it just co-incidental that Tom had jokingly suggested that as an explanation last night? More to the point- was that something to be proud of?

"Is…that how my parents really died?" Hagrid's smile dropped immediately.

"They 'aven't even told you 'bout that? Curses! Them slimy muggles! What I wouldn't give ter get my hands on 'em!" He said, slamming his podgy hand onto the wooden table. Harry was sure he felt the whole room shake.

"It's ok Hagrid. I had a feeling they weren't telling the truth." He offered the man a small smile. Reflexively his hand went to rub at his pants waistband, near his left hip, where Tom was tucked against the skin.

For the next half an hour, Hagrid had explained all about a wizard named 'Voldemort' and his followers- how he had come to kill Harry and had failed- how he had been killed himself and all supporters of the regime had been imprisoned. Harry was a living testament to love, a 'breathing martyr' of the wizarding world. If he was honest with himself, it was far too much to absorb all in one day. He wasn't even sure if he liked the idea of killing anyone; regardless of the fact the wizard was very evil. Who was Harry to decide who lived or died?

It had been five days since his arrival in London. Harry spent most of his time in Flourish and Blotts, head immersed in one of the millions of huge volumes, or curled up on his bed talking to Tom. Every day his friend would tell him about a different magical creature, or a strange, alien plant with magical properties. Today, Hagrid had promised to show him to get a wand. The giant took him down the alley to an old shop, pointing towards the door.

"That there is Ollivander's. You'll get yer wand there 'Arry. I'll catch up with yer, I got a few things to do."

Inside the shop was quiet. It smelled of wood varnish, stale paper and slightly like smoke.

"Hello?" Harry called, hoping an assistant would hear his small voice. He jumped a little when a man slid along one of the shelves on a wheeled ladder. The man in question was wiry, his white hair sticking up all over. He wore faded clothing and fingerless gloves, but somehow Harry didn't get the impression he was poor. The man smiled at him.

"I wondered when I would be seeing you, Mr Potter," He said. Harry presumed he was Ollivander "It seemed only yesterday that your mother and father were in here buying their first wands."

The wandmaker hopped down from the ladder with a youth that belied his appearance, grasping a box from the shelf. Harry watched as he hummed, rocking backwards on his heels.

"No…Maybe?" He asked himself, grasping a few more boxes. After waving his own wand, a few boxes flew at him from un-visible corners of the shop. Harry craned his neck to try and see where they were coming from, but was unsuccessful in this endeavour.

"Let's try a few, shall we?"

"This one has to work, surely!" Said Ollivander in exasperation. After testing the most part of 30 wands- Hawthorn, Holly, Ash, Cherry, almost every tree that Harry could think of- the wand shop had begun to show the signs. Several shelves had their contents dislodged and scattered upon the floor, several vases had been smashed and Ollivander's quills had stood up and ran away, cheering and singing about freedom. The wandmaker had resorted to giving Harry an old set of crockery to aim at, replacing each piece with another as they were smashed. One of the wands had even turned itself into a knot. The wand that the man had just given him had started to hiss and shake violently.

Harry sighed, placing it on Ollivander's desk.

"How infuriating," He said, flopping onto the chair behind his desk. "It can't be the wood that is rejecting your magic."

"Excuse me, Sir?" Harry said, confused over why wood would not like him. This had not been a topic of discussion between himself and Tom- Harry didn't even think there was more than one type of wand. Ollivander sat up straight, bright eyes connecting with his own.

"Wands contain a magical substance at their core. It helps to," He clicked his fingers, searching for a word. "Channel! That's right! It helps to channel your magic."

"For some reason, your magic is not being channelled by the substances I use for almost all of my wands: Unicorn hair, Phoenix feather and Dragon heartstrings."

He stood up, clapping his gloved hands together. There was determination set into his features. Harry watched as the wandmaker strode down an aisle, disappearing behind one of the tall shelves. He heard a few rustles, the sound of cardboard on wood, and finally footsteps as Ollivander returned to the desk. The box the man carried was a rich purple, bordered with streaks of pure white. It looked more expensive than the other wands he had tried. Ollivander opened the box, popping the wand into his hands.

"Here," He handed it to Harry, reached for it carefully. It was a beautiful, pale wood, light as a feather and an easily manageable length. The wand itself was straight, rounded at the tip and bloomed into an eight-point flower for the handle. As soon as Harry touched it, something akin to sparks flew up his hand and made the skin on his body prickle all over.

"Hmm. Interesting."

Harry cocked his head a little, observing the wandmaker's unreadable expression. Ollivander understood this subtle movement and elaborated.

"That wand you hold in your hand is a very special wand, Mr Potter, one of its kind," He said, taking it from Harry's hand to re-house it in its box. "The wood is called 'Silver Lime'. It is quite rare, and often works the best for those gifted as Seers or Legilimens. However,"

Harry looked at Ollivander a little nervously.

"Your wand core is even more unusual. It is Thestral hair."

"Sorry, but what is a 'Thestral'?" Tom had never mentioned anything about a Thestral before, either.

"A creature that can only be seen by those who have witnessed death. It is curious that this wand should have chosen you, especially since Thestral hair is also the wand core that many dark wizards of the 1700s used. Are you a dark wizard, Mr Potter?"

The wandmaker looked at him with a good-natured smirk. Harry shook his head. At least, he didn't think he was. What did a dark wizard do? Were they 'evil'? Were they different in skin colour, or from another heritage?

"Many wandmakers believe that Thestral hair is not a very powerful wand core and do not use it; however," The man continued "When wielded by one of significant magical potency, as you are, Thestral hair wands can be both loyal and extremely powerful."

Harry took the box from his hands, passing over a few coins.

"It was said that Merlin himself wielded a wand of Lignum Vitae and Thestral hair. It is clear that you are destined for greatness, Mr Potter. How you choose to pursue that greatness is a decision you must make wisely. Thank you for your custom."

Roughly two weeks passed, and tomorrow Harry would be getting on the Hogwarts Express for the very first time. Hagrid had woken him early that morning, explaining in a fluster that they shouldn't have left the uniforms until the last day and quickly bustled him out of the door.

"Come on then, let's get yer sorted."

He and Hagrid approached the establishment, the latter waiting outside because he could not fit through the door.

The shop, 'Madam Malkins', was a slightly lavish shop. Rich hangings of red and gold were strewn across the wall, and the furnishings looked ornate with their highlights accentuated by carved wood. Madam Malkin herself was short and squat, and came bustling over to Harry. She directed him towards the side, where there were two large mirrors located in front of two identical stools. A boy stood on one of them. Harry joined him on the other, stealing a glance as the other customer. He was small and blond, his hair slicked back into a smooth style. The face it revealed was thin, pale and pointed. Piercing grey eyes shone brightly in the lamp light as the boy studied Harry with just as much curiosity.

"Hello," He said "Are you going to Hogwarts too?"

Harry smiled and nodded.

"Yes."

"My father's next door buying my books, and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

This amused him a little. Harry couldn't help but find himself admiring the boy's spirit.

"I've always wanted to try flying," Harry said, bending the truth for the sake of conversation. "But my guardians never allowed it."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to teach you then!" His company exclaimed with a smug twinkle in his eye, puffing up his chest in pride. Harry nodded in agreement, maintaining the friendly chatter. He hoped everyone he met at Hogwarts would be easy to get along with.

"Do you know what house you want to be in?" He asked the boy, who grinned.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff! I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" Harry laughed along with his new friend.

"I think being in Gryffindor would be worse." The boy snorted at Harry, agreeing with a vigorous nod.

"So I take it you want to be in Slytherin too?" Harry nodded again as his company introduced himself. "The name's Draco. Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you."

"Harry Potter."

After making fast friends with Draco, they had gone for ice cream together with Hagrid. His new friend had seemed intrigued yet dubious about being around the man, but soon forgot his worry. When they had finished, Draco bid Harry and Hagrid farewell, running back to find his parents.

The next morning, Harry woke bright and early. Sun filtered through the murky window and bathed the room in a strange, honeyed light. He glanced at his new wristwatch, which sat on the bedside table next to him. 8AM. It was three more hours until the train left for Hogwarts- that gave him plenty of time to talk to Tom and have a leisurely breakfast. Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, rolling over and snuggled his face against something furry. Spluttering, he sat up. Muguet was looking at him with big, sparkling eyes, purring loudly.

"You scared me silly, you fleabag!" He said, tickling Muguet's chin. The little cat stood up and stretched, back arching into a perfect curve. Harry giggled.

"Perhaps I should get dressed."

Harry washed his face thoroughly in the sink, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes- not without keeping a close eye on the toilet. He didn't want that green thing jumping out at him. Looking up at himself in the mirror, he scrutinised his smooth skin. It had started to feel a lot smoother since meeting Tom; the gentle, youthful rouge of his cheeks was starting to become more visible, and the bags under his eyes were almost non-existent.

Harry sat back down on his bed and opened the diary, preparing for a quick chat before breakfast.

_-Tell me about the train to Hogwarts?_

_-It is called the 'Hogwarts Express'. It will take you all the way there. It comes in at Platform 9 and three quarters at King's Cross._

_-Platform 9 and three quarters? Where on earth is that?_

_- Hagrid should show you to the correct place, if you care to ask him. It has been so long since I attended Hogwarts, I'm afraid I couldn't tell you where it is._

If Tom were there with him, he probably would have chuckled at Harry's unconcealed excitement. The Tom in his mind was a tall, faceless being, dressed properly in shirt-and-tie at all times. He would laugh in an indistinguishable voice, pat Harry on the head and sit him on his chair by the fire. Harry unconsciously hugged the book closer to his chest, grinning uncontrollably. Honestly, how could he not be excited?

_-When did you attend Hogwarts, Tom?_

_-Hmm…I believe it was between 1938 and 1945._

Wow, Harry thought, That was a seriously long time ago. Grey hair grew on the head of Tom in Harry's mind, wispy and thin. Maybe he was even short and stocky, like his uncle? A loud knock on the door caught the boy's attention.

"'Arry! 'Arry you awake? Come down fer breakfast. Want yer strength up for yer first day!"

_-Oh! I have to go, thank you for everything! May we talk again tonight?_

_-Of course Harry, you know you can talk to me whenever you like. I will be waiting eagerly. Oh, and about that ring,_

_-Yes?_

_-Don't put it on. I have given it much thought. It sounds dangerous._

Harry gave his word, shut the book and tucked it into the top of his trousers. He stroked Muguet's head softly and left the kitten to sleep on his bed.

"Morning, Hagrid." Harry offered politely, pulling open the door to face the huge man.

"Mornin' 'Arry! Sleep well?" He boomed, clapping Harry around the shoulder good-heartedly. The boy nodded and allowed himself to be guided downstairs to a good breakfast. Last night, he and Hagrid had eaten better than Harry had for a long time. Subconsciously he patted his stomach, which was already rumbling with anticipation over the ginormous portions of whatever would be served to him this morning. They entered the dining area where Harry received several calls of 'Good morning Mr Potter!', to which he replied as politely as he had done to Hagrid.

Sitting down opposite his friend, Harry met the other's eyes. At first he had been shocked about the incident when they first stepped into the pub, but that had been replaced by curiosity. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of things for Harry to be curious about these days. He shivered, causing Hagrid to voice his concern and then abruptly notice the time.

"Blimey! We best be getting' yer to the platform!"

Harry loved King's Cross. It was full to the brim of bustling people, the sounds of whistles blowing and the smell of hot diesel from train engines. He and Hagrid walked side by side to an arched column of brick between two busy platforms. The boy was a little apprehensive at first when the giant told him to actually walk through it, but stranger things had happened to him before so he took it for what it was. A strange thing. Muguet hissed from his catbox, spooked by the wall. What met his eyes on the other side was more magical than anyone could have prepared him for.

A beautiful steam-train awaited him, steam billowing out from below its engine in huge puffs of white, moistening his face. The front of the train was charcoal black, the words 'Hogwarts Express' written in metal plating and proudly place upon the face. The rest was bright red, with carriages that seemed to never end. The whole train glistened with drops of moisture and Victorian charm. Just as he was clearing his trolley from the exit, something rammed into his back.

"Bloody- Argh! Sorry!" Harry turned around to see a boy with wild, ginger hair standing behind him. "I didn't see you there mate! You ok?"

He seemed nice enough. He smiled at the boy, recalling a piece of Tom's advice.

'-Networking is very important Harry. If you have friends in many places, you have endless resources.'

"Yes, I'm fine thank you. I'm sorry for getting in the way." The ginger boy shook his head, returning the smile.

"My fault. Stupid rat almost knocked itself off my trolley." He said, pointing to the small rodent in a cage. "I'm Ron by the way."

"Harry. Nice to meet you," He said, holding his hand out to the other young boy. Ron shook it. Harry decided that he quite liked him; he reminded Harry of Hagrid- straight-forward and good natured.

"Harry! Harry, over here!" A small voice from behind him started to shout. Harry turned around to see a mass of slick, blond hair making its way towards him.

"It was lovely meeting you, but I have to go." Ron waved him goodbye. Harry laughed, eager to see his friend from yesterday.

"Draco!" The boy made his way past a cloaked woman. Her dark, curly hair brushed in his eyes for a second. Harry paused to rub at them, turning to apologise; however, when he did, she had already gone. Draco pushed through to meet his friend. His clothes, Harry noted, were sleek, well-ironed and free of dirt or dust. Draco's shoes were polished to the highest standard, and made small clicking noises when he walked. The blond himself had a regal air about him, regardless of his small stature.

"Hello Harry." Draco said, smoothing back his hair. "I trust you're sitting with me on the train?

"Yes, of course. This is the first time I've seen the Hogwarts Express. Isn't it wonderful?"

His friend was about to reply, yet was cut off by the shrill voice of a woman calling his name.

"Draco!" A woman with hair as blonde as Draco's own was calling across to him. Harry assumed this was his new friend's mother. He watched as they exchanged a few words, receiving a disapproving stare from the woman. She hugged her son and Draco returned to him, beckoning for him to get rid of his luggage and enter the train. A man took Muguet to the car where the animals were kept, but not before Harry had given the kitten a soft tickle through the bars of the box. They pulled the carriage doors behind them, throwing themselves down on the cushioned seats in earnest. Harry sank into the soft upholstery and sighed, leaning his head against the window. The glass was cool, and a little condensation had formed in the corners. A drop trickled onto Harry's forehead. Grinning, he wiped it off and looked at the blond.

"So, are you nervous for the sorting ceremony?"

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><p><strong>Ollivander doesn't usually make wand cores out of anything but Unicorn hair, Phoenix feathers or Dragon heartstrings because they are the most magically potent; however, other things like Veela and Thestral hair have been known to be used before. I thought Thestral hair just suited Harry. He's already seen a lot of death. And about Merlin's wand. I don't know about his wand core, but I have read that it was made of Lignum Vitae.<strong>

***There is speculation over the true colour of Narcissa's hair. I have read that it's only blonde, and in other places I've read that it was blonde underneath and brown on top, showing her Black family heritage.**


	6. Update: I will continue!

**Hello everybody.** It's been a long time since I have updated this story, and I must say I'm ashamed at myself for not having done so.** Presently I am smoothing out any glitches in the previous chapters and I plan to be moving full-steam ahead** with this story again. I really enjoy writing it. I also have a few other things I am planning on uploading soon, since now I have settled into my new life at University.

I hope you all had a lovely Christmas and have an equally lovely New Year. Sorry to keep you all waiting!

**Love Sparrow**


	7. In which Harry is sorted

**I would like to send out a heartfelt apology to anyone who has read/followed this story. I am extremely angry at myself for not updating for so long, and hope you all can forgive me.**

**I had to split the original chapters up, re-arrange everything event-by-event and then go through and make heads or tails of what I'd written due to a stupid mistake I'd made. It was incredibly difficult, and I had a lot of personal problems along with examinations and reports to do for university so it took quite a while. Please let me know if there is anything I've missed!**

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><p>An hour passed with the two talking of Slytherin and the school. Draco didn't ask any questions about his newly-discovered celebrity status- whether he didn't know or just didn't want to ask, Harry was glad for it. An old lady had come past their compartment offering treats of all kinds. They bought as many as they could, and Draco proceeded to educate Harry about wizard sweets. The brunette had found them all to be amazing, even if an odd-flavoured jelly bean had repulsed him somewhat.<p>

The scenery had unfolded from the urban sprawl of London and southern England, to the rugged, heather-riddled moors of Northumberland. The weather was damp and cloudy, but it had yet to rain. Harry was grateful for his and Draco's warm compartment, full to the brim of sweet wrappers and laughs. At first, Draco had seemed apprehensive to joke on, sneering as if it were below him. After a while Draco began to act more normal, giggling with Harry as he became more comfortable around his friend. He wondered if Draco's parents even allowed their son to be a child, so Harry wanted him to feel comfortable when they were together. Perhaps it would be easy to make lots of friends at Hogwarts.

"My wand is Hawthorn and Unicorn hair," Draco said with pride, bringing his wand from a pocket in his jacket. It was straight, with no deviation in direction and two simple bands ringing around the base where Draco held it. It was elegant in its own right, rigid and upright like its owner. "What's yours, Harry?"

The boy dug into his backpack and withdrew his wand, still nestled inside the beautiful white and plum-purple box. He pulled the lid free and allowed Draco to inspect it. The other boy's hand hovered towards it, pausing momentarily.

"May I?" He asked. Harry nodded, watching as Draco picked it up for inspection.

"It's Silver Lime and Thestral hair." The blond looked fascinated for a few seconds, but pulled back. He cleared his throat and re-assumed his smirk.

"Very nice, Harry-"

Draco looked up to see a young girl with a forest of curly hair slide open the carriage door in irritation. She began to speak in a well-spoken, nasally voice.

"Have either of you seen a toad? A boy called Neville's lost one."

"No, sorry." Harry replied civilly, although disliking her immediately. She seemed snooty and arrogant in a way that demeaned other people's intelligence.

"Oh, you're doing magic? Let's see then." The girl invaded their car and sat down next to Harry, back stiff and nose pointed in the air. Draco's face twisted in annoyance and he handed Harry's wand back.

"Sorry to disappoint," The blond scoffed at her "But we weren't doing any-"

All three of them snapped their vision to the window of the train, where a tiny flower had formed in the centre.

"-magic…" Draco finished. Harry tried not to look astounded. Who was doing it? He was the only one holding a wand presently- unless you could perform spells without a wand. If so, it could've been any of them; judging by the other's faces they had no clue either. The flower blossomed further, dark burgundy petals unfolding outwards. Plant-like tendrils emerged from beneath it, spreading across the glass and revealing fresh buds which cascaded downwards and erupted into several more burgundy flowers. Then slowly, each flower shattered into shards of glittering glass, merging back into the window without a trace. There was a stagnant silence for a minute, the girl and Draco turning to face him in moderate awe. Harry felt a little proud to see such a gob-smacked expression on her features.

"Well, er, you two should change into your uniforms," The girl rose to stand at the car door "I expect we'll be arriving soon."

The boys watched as she walked stiffly down the corridor. Draco beamed at him.

"That showed her! Harry, that was amazing!" He muttered a meek 'thank you', pulling a uniform from his bag and laying it neatly on the seat next to him. His hand went to Tom again, caressing the edge of the spine with his fingertips. Surely it couldn't have been him? Harry had a feeling there would be a very long discussion this evening, and he revelled in that. Since this morning's conversation he had longed to talk more over the ring and of Hogwarts, and now the extra topic of the window flower. Perhaps Tom could do magic outside of the diary. Harry smirked inwardly; that could really help him in lessons. He stood up and grabbed the uniform, informing Draco he was going to change and making off towards the toilet a little shakily.

When the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, it was dark outside. Harry and Draco, now in their smart school robes, were directed towards the edge of a lake by Hagrid. Harry had smiled and waved, happy to see the giant man again. They were then instructed to enter the small boats which bobbed merrily on the black surface of the water; so Harry and Draco, now joined sheepishly by Ron, clambered into the vessel whilst trying to control their excitement. The blond and the red-head gave each other a few heated glares for some reason, but Harry ignored this and craned his neck to get a full view of the castle. It was nostalgic somehow…as though he were watching one of his own dreams on a huge screen. He stared at the building until they reached the other side of the lake.

His heart was practically bursting out of his chest with excitement as a strict looking woman, whom had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, led Harry and the other first years into the main hall. He ignored the stares of the older students, keeping close to Draco. They are sat in front of four long tables, facing a hat upon an old wooden stool. So this was the Sorting Hat Tom had talked about. Professor McGonagall unrolled a scroll of paper and adjusted her glasses, reading out the first name. It was Ron. The red-head looked back at him nervously, edging towards the stool. The Professor placed the Hat upon his head, and Harry watched in awe as it talked. Its voice was gruff and wizened, as though it had seen more than its fair share of life. If the Hat was as old as Tom claimed, it probably had. Harry felt a little sorry for it. What did it do when there were no people to sort?

Harry's mind trailed off into distant thoughts; so much so that he almost didn't respond when his name was called out. He hopped up amongst a ripple of whispers, confidently striding towards the stool.

The boy surveyed the scene, scrutinising each table. He saw Draco's pasty face staring back at him from the Slytherin table. His heart was racing again as Professor McGonagall let the Hat perch on his cranium.

"Harry Potter, eh?" It said "You're a tough one…"

Slytherin! Put me in Slytherin! Please, put me in Slytherin!

"So you want to be in Slytherin? Are you sure?" Harry blanched as he felt the Hat delve into his mind, probing around. "Plenty of courage, I see. Don't you think you'd be better suited in Gryffindor?"

"No." Harry said out aloud, a little firmly. The Hat chuckled.

"Just teasing. A hat my age has to have some fun every now and again! Slytherin it is then!"

The young boy beamed, jumping from the stool and running over to meet Draco. After the others had been sorted, the headmaster said a few words and waved his hand. An assortment of scrumptious-looking foods grew from empty plates set upon the long tables. The hall burst with chatter of youthful voices and the sound of clanking cutlery. Harry had never been happier as he tucked into a good meal with Draco and the other new Slytherin students, underneath the floating candles and enchanted ceiling. Once finished, a harsh man by the name of Professor Snape, their head of house, led them to the Slytherin common room.

It was beautiful. So grandiose and lavish, unlike anywhere Harry had even set foot in before. Draco was probably used to such splendour. The sofas were a dark, green leather, and were dotted about the room in careful co-ordination. Every wooden item was a deep ebony colour, high polished and gleaming in the emerald light. A prefect led them into the dormitories, where their possessions were laid out beside an allocated bed. Harry was truly delighted to find his bed was next to the far wall and that Draco was on the other side. Muguet lay curled on his pillow, purring happily. The bed itself was a four-poster, not big enough to get lost in but big enough to stretch out. He seriously could not believe his luck! In his excitement, Harry grasped a hold of the curtains that hung down from the top wooden frame, feeling their heavily embroidered texture in his hands. The material was a stunning pea green, interwoven with bits of silver and greys.

"-glad I'm not by the far wall-" A voice caught his attention "-where he slept supposedly-"

Although he was curious, Tom was more important at this moment in time. Whilst Draco was talking to two other first years, Harry drew one of the curtains closed for some conspicuous privacy and removed the diary from under his clothes. Muguet arose from his slumber, stretched, then settled back onto Harry's lap.

_-Good evening, Harry. Have you had a good day? _

_-Yes! I don't even know where to start! _

The diary still felt fragile, but was radiating a gentle warmth again. It may have just been him, but Harry felt as though he was getting better at detecting it. Tom bemusedly instructed him to start at the beginning. The boy started scribbling down his experience on the train with his pencil.

_-Was that you, Tom? Can you do magic outside of the diary?_

_-I am finding myself increasingly capable of doing so because of you. Marvellous, wasn't it? I hope you liked it._

If that was so, the prospects of Harry seeing Tom in his true form seemed closer than ever. Finally he would be able to put a face to his friend! In his glee, Harry had forgotten all about his creeping suspicion concerning the diary. Controlling the little bout of excitement, he continued to write.

_-I loved it. That girl was astounded!_

_-Wonderful. Oh, I almost forgot. What house have you been sorted into?_

Harry grinned. Tom would be so proud of him!

_-Slytherin. The common room is wonderful, and I have the bed by the far wall. Muguet seems to like it too._

Harry looked up and peeked around the curtain. People had settled down now, sinking into their new beds and chatting quietly amongst each other. Draco was buttoning up a pyjama shirt, readying himself for sleep. Noticing Harry peeping at him, he bid his friend goodnight. Harry returned it.

_-That's fantastic Harry! And I do believe that I used to sleep in that very bed when I went to school myself._

The young boy's face became hot with a strange bashfulness. He was sleeping where Tom would've slept all those years ago. The same bed. Had Tom lain there in his youth, wondering who would sleep there in the future, or whom had slept there before him? Harry told himself to stop being stupid. There was still much to talk about. He was still maddeningly interested in Tom's ability to do magic outside the diary, and he also needed to discuss the subject of Lord Voldemort. If Tom had heard anything of the dark wizard, maybe he would be able to fill in some of the missing details for him. Deflecting a killing curse definitely didn't sound like an everyday occurrence. Now that people seemed to be talking about dark wizards, he had even more questions. Tom was patient, and explained about the dark wizard Grindelwald, who sought for wizards to rule over muggles as a superior race. Somehow, Harry got the feeling that perhaps Tom even agreed with Grindelwald. They discussed the issue further until Harry could stand it no longer.

Harry paused, wondering how to go about the subject. Disclosing every last detail of his waking life didn't seem sensible, but after a moment's hesitation, the boy decided to dive straight in.

_-Hagrid told me that I defeated a dark wizard when I was young. _

He wrote, hoping to get the serious conversation out of the way as quickly as possible, although that may have been asking too much.

_-We will talk of this tomorrow Harry. You must be tired. _

Tom was right; he was tired…

The next morning Harry woke with a start, finding himself shivering and still in his school clothes. He shuddered, breathing out a cold puff of air and rubbed his arms. Muguet was fast asleep on the pillow, his tiny chest rising and falling steadily. Harry smiled at his pet fondly, giving him a little stroke. The cat mewled and began to purr.

"Harry," A voice whispered from behind his bed curtains "Harry, are you awake?"

He poked his head around the ornate curtains to see Draco doing the same, icy blond hair ruffled and sticking up at all angles.

"Hey Draco! You should see your hair…" Harry chuckled, trying to stifle his laughter when the boy looked at him with a horrified expression. He watched Draco fuss for a few moments before dropping his curtain for some privacy, locating Tom at the bottom of his bed. Somehow his pencil had gotten stuck underneath the pillow, so after a few more moments of searching he finally managed to open the diary and write.

_-Good morning Tom! Today is my first day of lessons. I'm very excited!_

_-Oh Harry, I am so very pleased you still wish to talk to me after I treated you so horribly yesterday._

A response came almost as soon as he had finished his sentence, which surprised Harry greatly. Tom must've really been worrying about it all night. He sighed, stroking the yellow pages. How could he ever be mad at Tom? He was his best friend in the whole wide world.

_-I could never be angry with you. You didn't treat me horribly!_

Tom apologised profusely for sending Harry to sleep, explaining that he simply thought the boy needed to rest after such a long day. They exchanged a few more fast, scribbled notes before Harry decided it was best to change into a fresh uniform and wash up to start his new day.

Magic was a lot more exhausting that he had originally thought. Potions, his favourite subject, was taught by a strict professor called Snape- who had very sad eyes, Harry thought. Ron and the snooty girl from the train were also in his class. Unfortunately, she had sat next to the ginger boy on the first day. Ron kept looking at Harry uncomfortably and grumbling to himself every time she raised her hand. Professor Snape had eyed Harry suspiciously for most of the lesson, scrutinising him every now and then. Fortunately, with the help of Tom, he had managed to read up on simple potions during his month in the Leaky Cauldron, and was able to answer most of the Professor's questions correctly. First year students also had to take Defence Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Herbology (which Harry enjoyed almost as much as Potions), Charms, Transfiguration and Astronomy. During the first two months at Hogwarts, he managed to settle into a nice routine of lessons, reading and relaxing in the library and spending time with Draco and Ron. To begin with, the two had not seen eye to eye; however after a week or so around each other they had relaxed into the other's company. There was the occasional cat fight, usually initiated by Draco blabbing out something that sounded cruel. Harry would only grin as he watched them bicker on like an old married couple, before intervening with a 'who wants to go exploring?' or 'let's go get some food!'.

He had managed to talk to Tom every day, usually about fickle things such as study or friends, but sometimes Tom would tell Harry a story or two. The diary still rarely divulged any information about itself, and if Harry asked, he was met with a cryptic response or a plain dismissal. This was irritating, but Tom must've had his reasons for doing so. Still, regardless of their differences, the two had forged a strong bond over the few months they had known each other. Harry kept the diary on him at all times, as well as the ring. One day he had woken up late, and in his hurry had forgotten to tuck the book in his sock. All day he felt sick with worry, wondering if someone was going to steal it. When he was finally allowed to return to the Slytherin dorms, Harry ran to the bed and shut the curtains, curling up with Tom and Muguet. He vowed never to let Tom out of his reach again.

It was Halloween today, and Harry sat in the library that evening with his two friends talking excitedly about the night's feast. Ron had heard all about the Halloween feast from his older brothers, and Harry's head was left reeling at the sound of some dishes. As if the food at Hogwarts wasn't already amazing! Nothing he had cooked for the Dursleys ever tasted as good- Harry was sorely tempted to sneak into the kitchens soon to discover their secrets.

"-lollipops, jellies, chocolate bananas and toffee apples and all sorts of weird and wonderful puddings-"

Harry and Draco were drooling by now, listening eagerly to Ron rattle off a long list as they packed up some books and made their way to the great hall. Filing into the room as they had done so many times already, Harry craned his neck up to look at the ceiling. It was vast and dark, twinkling with stars and interspersed with patches of fog. Dozens of beautifully carved pumpkins, glowing eerily from the candles inside of them, were floating about the room. He and Draco bid farewell to Ron, who went to sit at the Gryffindor table.

The feast certainly lived up to the expectation. Harry slunk to bed with a full, swollen belly, more content than he had ever been in his life. He bid Draco goodnight, settling down in his pyjamas with Muguet at his side. With the curtains securely closed, Harry opened the diary for their usual evening chat. Albeit a short one tonight, because he was quite tired. A most peculiar thing happened next.

The diary had become searing hot, scalding Harry and forcing him to drop it onto his bed, the crisp pages fluttering open. He was used to the gentle changes in temperature, but it was even hotter than the time Tom had got very angry at the Dursleys. It began to shake violently, emitting rays of bright, white light. Harry twisted his head away as to shield his eyes, waiting for whatever was happening to end.

When he looked back, there was no book on the end of his bed. Instead, there was a boy.

"Hello Harry." A straight-backed, long legged teenager sat on Harry's bed, smiling softly. He was neatly dressed in a Slytherin uniform, and had pristine brown curls sitting on a handsome head.

"T-Tom?" Harry asked in bafflement. The boy smiled.

"Yes, it's me." He said soothingly, sending tingles down Harry's spine. So many emotions were flicking through his brain; he had dreamed of this moment since the first day they talked, and yet, he didn't even know what to say. Harry's first instinct was to throw himself into Tom's arms and embrace him. When the older boy gestured for him to come closer, Harry shuffled down the bed on his haunches, gaze never wavering from Tom. The latter placed a large, cool hand on Harry's face, softly caressing his cheek. Harry thought his heart would burst if he were any happier.

"Harry, we have so much to talk about." Tom said, pulling the quivering boy onto his lap and stroking his hair. Harry's face was bright red, his voice but a whisper.

"What if the others hear us?"

"Don't worry, they won't. I've taken care of it."

Harry listened to the words vibrating deep in Tom's chest, ear pressed to the older boy's breastplate. He had never expected his friend to be this…affectionate. Not that Harry minded, he was exceptionally enjoying their comfortable arrangement. Large hands were carding through the strands of brown hair on his scalp, causing his head to tingle with pleasant sensations. He vaguely wondered if Tom was casting any magic, because it all felt so _good_; then again, perhaps it was simply because Harry had rarely received any physical affection before. The elder laughed when Harry sighed happily.

"I've been dreaming of this day." Tom broke the silence, and Harry drew back to look at him.

"How are you even here?" Harry asked, because it was confusing and wonderful all at the same time. Maybe he was already asleep, and was dreaming very vividly. He raised a shaky hand, bringing it to Tom's face, but withdrew. It was probably very rude to touch someone without asking. A hand caught Harry's, returning it to its original goal. Tom permitted his fingers to explore the dips and planes of his features, watching Harry's long lashes flutter closed.

"It's all Hallow's Eve, dear," Harry wrinkled his nose at the pet name. Tom picked the boy up in his arms and re-organised them so they lay face to face on the pillow "On this night, the bridge between the spirit world and the mortal world is strongest. I performed some very powerful magic to manifest myself."

"You did all that to see me?"

"I did whatever I could so we could be together. I yearn for your company, Harry. I can barely stand it when we are not talking."

Tom's cool eyes were staring right at Harry, straight into his head. Tom's large hand reached outward, brushing down the other's cheek with a feather-light touch and skimming down Harry's body, finally coming to rest on his hip. The boy giggled at the ticklish sensation.

"I wonder why it feels right to be near you," Tom said, grasping Harry's hip firmly "I normally despise the company of others."

"Maybe you were just lonely."

They spent what felt like an eon gently laughing and talking about Harry's experiences at Hogwarts.

"Before I started Hogwarts I had these dreams about running through a huge castle," the smaller boy explained, giving a small yawn "And when I came, I realised this was actually that castle. It was amazing!"

Tom smiled at Harry, raising a sleek eyebrow.

"Perhaps you are a seer. Your wand is silver lime, after all. Did Ollivander tell you that all the greatest seers had silver lime wands?"

Harry nodded, looking to the slender wooden object on the sideboard next to his bed. He really quite liked of his wand. He thought it was beautiful; an instrument of magic should be beautiful, in his opinion.

"Lately I have not been dreaming at all." He said, furrowing his brow.

"Then maybe there is nothing to see at present." Tom replied. Harry was tenderly turned over to face the curtains, and a warm body moulded against his back. Tom's sturdy, _safe_ arm curled over his waist. A faint whisper sounded in his ears. "Sleep, darling."

"Will I dream?" Harry asked through another yawn, vaguely registering the fact he had not asked Tom any of the questions he was so desperate to ask. Tom kissed his cheek and tittered in good nature.

"I promise you will dream."

* * *

><p><strong>There will not be any underage relations in this story. <strong>

**I added a skip after Harry's first day because the focus of this story is over a long period of time, and I can't write about every day he has at Hogwarts. There will be more skips in the future. **

**Harry is becoming sharper and sharper by the day. Is that all down to his own development, or is Tom bewitching him? I'll allow you to decide that for yourselves. What are Tom's true intentions? You'll find out later. **

**Voldemort's current status is unknown, although many presume him to be dead. There will be development on this situation further into the story. Just know that this isn't the last you've heard of it. I think I made Draco a little too passive, there's no way he'd be caught dead with a Weasley in reality. But I like him that way. I think he just needs someone there to calm him down. Strange boy. Too much Draco in this chapter. Not enough Tom Tom Tom. I'm starting to dislike this story, I didn't want it to start sounding like a re-write, but it has =(**

**Again, I sincerely apologise for the long, long, LONG wait, but I want you to know I'm going to try my hardest to keep on top of this story. **


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